Page 35 of The Apple Cider Orchard

So she was a marketing executive, then. Not a corporate spy.

He trusted Eva’s judgment; no better woman to sniff out a fraud. But the absence of her cheerful buffer only made him more acutely aware of Molly’s proximity. She smelled faintly of something floral – different to the heavy perfume he associated with city women, subtler, fresher. The distance between them suddenly seemed both too wide and not wide enough.

‘I’m … sorry about earlier,’ he muttered suddenly. ‘I genuinely thought you were one of Crest’s flying monkeys.’

When she raised a small smile, he relaxed somewhat. ‘No, I’m from New York, Wicked Witch of the East.’

Jack smiled, even though he didn’t quite get the joke. ‘My great-uncle mentioned some of your ideas actually,’ he said then, the words emerging more abruptly than he’d intended. She looked up and he shifted his weight, discomfort warring with his inherent honesty. ‘They were … decent. The cards explaining each variety’s history, the cider tasting tours.’ The admission cost him something, but fairness demanded it. ‘He was quite taken with the concept.’

‘Oh,’ Molly said again, this time with a hint of pleased surprise. ‘I was just thinking out loud, really. I didn’t expect him to take me seriously.’

‘Patrick doesn’t miss much.’ Jack’s fingers traced a knot in the wooden countertop, avoiding her direct gaze. ‘He says your suggestions might help people understand why we do things the way we do. Why it matters so much.’ He looked up then, meeting her eyes directly for the first time since entering the café. Up close, they were even greener than he’d remembered, flecked with gold in the evening light. ‘He was even talking about implementing some of them.’

Molly set down her mug, her expression shifting to professional interest. ‘That’s great. Simple, educational, authentic to who you are.’ She hesitated, then added, ‘I could help him with the wording of the cards, if you’d like.’

Jack studied her, trying to reconcile this seemingly earnest offer with his lingering suspicions. Could he have misjudged her? Or was this simply a more sophisticated approach to gaining his trust?

‘Why would you do that?’ he asked bluntly.

She shrugged, the gesture elegant despite its casualness. ‘I liked your great-uncle, it’s what I do. And …’ she hesitated, something vulnerable flickering across her features, ‘I actually admire what you’re trying to preserve at Goldenridge. Traditional methods, heritage varieties – those things do matter.’

The sincerity in her voice caught him off guard completely, chipping away at the defensive wall he’d built. Jack found himself nodding slowly. ‘They do.’

Another silence fell, but this one felt different – less charged with tension, more contemplative. In the background, Eva laughed at something one of her customers said, the sound bright and infectious in the warm café air.

‘Again, I apologize,’ Jack reiterated, the words coming easier now. ‘For my behavior at the shop earlier. And by the lake the other day too.’ He met her gaze directly, owning his mistake. ‘I was … out of order.’

Molly’s eyebrows rose, genuine surprise evident in her expression.

‘Patrick pointed out that I might have jumped to conclusions,’ Jack admitted. ‘He usually knows what he’s talking about.’

A small smile curved her lips, transforming her face from merely pretty to something that made Jack’s breath catch. ‘Apology accepted. And I understand better now why you were suspicious. Eva told me about Crest Beverages.’

He felt something tight in his chest ease slightly. ‘They’ve been relentless,’ he conceded. ‘Three approaches this year alone, each more aggressive than the last.’

‘Must be exhausting,’ she said, and she sounded like she meant it.

‘It is.’ The admission slipped out before he could stop it. He rarely acknowledged the toll the constant pressure took on him, not even to Patrick. Yet somehow, sitting in Eva’s warm café with golden light pooling around them, it felt possible to speak the truth.

‘For what it’s worth,’ Molly said, breaking off another piece of gingerbread, ‘I really am just a tourist. No hidden corporate agenda.’ Jack found himself believing her, though caution still remained at the edges of his thoughts. He couldn’t help it. ‘My grandmother used to talk about the ancient trees of Ireland. Said they were like living history books, if you knew how to read them.’ She smiled faintly. ‘Maybe I was hoping to see a few pages of that history for myself.’

The answer wasn’t fully satisfying, but Jack sensed pushing further would only rebuild the walls that had just begun to come down between them. Instead, he nodded, accepting her explanation for what it was.

‘The big oak is special all right,’ he admitted. ‘Been standing since before any Flynn planted the first apple tree. Some mornings, in the right light …’ He trailed off, suddenly self-conscious about sharing something so personal.

‘What?’ Molly prompted, her voice soft with genuine curiosity.

Jack hesitated, then continued. ‘Some mornings it looks almost like it’s breathing. Sounds fanciful, I know.’

‘Not at all,’ she replied, her eyes shining with understanding. ‘The best things often look that way in the right light.’

Their gazes held for a moment too long to be casual, something unspoken passing between them. Jack felt a peculiar lightening in his chest, as if a burden he’d carried for miles had suddenly shifted to a more comfortable position.

Eva returned then, her eyes darting between them with undisguised interest and he straightened, the moment evaporating. ‘I should get going.’

Yet Jack found himself oddly reluctant to leave the warmth of The Cherry Blossom Café and the unexpected connection that had begun to form across Eva’s counter.

Chapter 18